


never tell your parents how we met

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, unhealthy polyamoury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:54:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>all human au, established lydia/stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never tell your parents how we met

If Stiles ever had to actually explain it to anyone, he would probably be at a loss. Lydia and he had discussed the possibility of taking someone else into their bedroom before, but ‘discuss’ was honestly probably too grand a term for it. In reality, the most they had spoken about it was when Lydia had tied him to the bed so tight he could barely move and then had teased him about how he wanted someone to fuck him, and painted images so bright they burned into his mind even as she rode him, inventing some painfully handsome strong man to fuck him. His cheeks had burned with embarrassment and bliss, and they were the same now. Stiles wasn’t an easy blusher, but the heat of the bar combined with the few drinks he had already had made Lydia’s almost-leer as embarrassing as it had ever been. It took him a moment before he saw what she was gesturing at, subtly tilting her chin to the booth behind them. At first glance it appeared empty, but as he searched it through the clouds of smoke and bustling bodies he caught a glimpse of someone hunched over the table with a beer in his big hands. His shoulders were broad, stretching a blue henley over round muscles and even as Stiles watched, a drop of sweat or condensation slid down his hand and disappeared into the dark hair of his arm. Lydia stomped on his foot under the table and his hiss was loud enough to make the man look over. Stiles turned abruptly and hid his panicked look in Lydia’s hair. She kicked his shin then, lighter and giggled.  
“He’s still looking,” she informed him and Stiles wrinkled his nose.  
“What’s so funny?” He demanded and Lydia leaned against him as if she was going to kiss him, her breasts soft and pressing against his chest as she exhaled, smoke and wine.  
“He wants to fuck you,” she said, and her laugh ruffled his hair.  
“Please,” Stiles said and even he wasn’t quite sure what he meant.  
“I want to fuck him,” Lydia breathed, and Stiles let his hand curl around her small waist, silk of her top hiding soft sweet skin. When she pressed closer to him, he let his thumb lift, brushing over her small breast until he could stroke her nipple, already hard through the lace of her bra.  
“I dare you to ask him,” Stiles said, half a joke and half a plea. Lydia gripped his wrist, and for a moment Stiles was captivated by how small and breakable his tiny bones felt in the iron grip of her manicured hand, blood-red nails shiny against his pale skin. She pressed her lips to his palm, kissing it and Stiles felt her smirk against it.  
“How can you tell?” Stiles asked, and their relationship had lasted long enough that she knew what he was talking about. She tossed her hair, red curls glimmering in the dim light.  
“You don’t get through life looking like me without knowing what people look like when they want to fuck you,” she said.  
“Makes sense,” he said. Lydia lifted her wine glass, tossing back the red like it was a shot and grinned at him, her lipstick smudged just slightly in the corner of her mouth, endearing. He smoothed it away with his thumb.  
“I’m gonna ask him,” she announced.  
“No way,” Stiles said, excitement and terror winding in his belly and making his whiskey turn unpleasantly. “What if he says no? What if he says yes?!”  
“You worry too much,” Lydia said breezily and she slipped through his fingers easily, adjusting her top and neatening her skirt as it brushed the velvet of her smooth thighs, teasingly high. Before he could stand and get her, her heels clicked away fast and she sank into the booth beside the dark haired man. Jealousy flashed through his mind for just a moment before he brushed it away, even as she leaned in and laid her soft hand on his strong arm. Stiles only realised he was staring when the man’s eyes lifted and pinned him in place, clear and overwhelmingly sober. He tried to look away, but his eyes only dropped as far as his mouth, harsh even in the midst of stubble that would burn the insides of Lydia’s thighs so prettily. He could see his mouth move then, and Stiles could tell what it was even this far away.  
“Alright,” the man said. 

Lydia booked a hotel room, which made sense although Stiles hadn’t thought that far ahead. She bustled them all into a cab, and crossed her legs until her skirt rode up her curved thighs like an invitation. Her phone was blindingly bright in the darkness of the cab as she called ahead and booked a room, clever and safe as always. Lydia had pressed them all into the cab so fast that Stiles ended up on the middle seat, his thigh pressed alongside the length of the man’s leg, overwhelmingly warm and hard. He dropped his hand and wound his fingers into the hem of Lydia’s skirt to distract himself and he caught the man looking out of the corner of his eye as his fidgeting brought the hem higher, almost enough to catch a glimpse of white cotton. Lydia tugged it down, but looked at him affectionately as she slid her phone into her small handbag.  
“Derek, this is Stiles. Stiles, Derek,” she said.  
“What kind of name is Stiles?” Derek said and Stiles was so caught up for a moment in the gravelly depth of his voice, a hint of sarcasm lilting it pleasantly that he couldn’t answer.  
“A nickname. A stupid one,” Lydia answered for him, and the cab went over a bump that made his stomach turn. He hadn’t drank enough to excuse that, and so he knew it was nerves. Street lights illuminated the cab enough as they made into the city that Stiles could see their legs in a neat row. Lydia’s knees were crossed, her thighs soft and inviting. Derek’s knees were apart, as if he didn’t care that he was taking up most of the space. His jeans were loose but worn enough that Stiles could see the curve of hard muscle underneath. His own knees were together, as were his feet. The cab stopped so abruptly that Lydia’s handbag slipped from her grasp and Stiles made a stupid noise of surprise. Lydia huffed and took her purse out, and that was when Stiles saw the hotel. A huge, hulking white building that looked altogether too fancy for anything they had planned. Lydia passed a small wad of cash through the hole in the grate and tugged on Stiles' sleeve as she slipped out of the car. 

Lydia barely nodded at the receptionist before she was handing her the room key, and if she found it strange that none of them had overnight bags, she didn’t say so. In the hotel room, Stiles paused for a moment, pretending to look around as Derek removed his leather jacket and Lydia left her bag on the massive bed. Lydia was overwhelmingly beautiful, the kind of flawless features that would stop someone on the street. Her body was neat, curved gently and strong, her tiny waist the only indicator of fragility. Derek wore only a henley and jeans, slipping around his tight hips but he was gorgeous enough to be a model. Stiles felt stupid for a moment. He wasn’t as gangly anymore as he had been as a teenager but he wasn’t as muscled either. His abs had lost any definition they had from lacrosse, and he was mostly small and skinny. He’d grown his hair a little, but it needed a cut badly, spiking across his heads in thick tufts. He wasn’t someone who could be a model, and he felt unwanted here, like Lydia was the bait to lure in some gorgeous guy and he was the weirdo who showed up where he wasn’t invited.  
“Hey,” Lydia interrupted his thoughts as she removed her necklace. “What’re you thinking about?”  
“Nothing,” he said, his fingers working nervously. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, an answer and distraction all in one. From the door the the bedroom Derek leaned against the wall and Stiles felt abruptly paranoid that he knew exactly what he had really been thinking.  
“Let’s have a drink,” Lydia said in the tone of voice that brooked no argument, and she helped herself to the minibar, opening the half-bottle of champagne. She tilted the bottle toward Derek questionly and he shook his head.  
“I’ll have water,” he said and Stiles moved to pour him a glass before he realised what he was doing. He held it out to Derek, who moved to get it and Stiles avoided his eyes when he realised his hand was shaking badly enough to slop the water over the sides. Derek’s hand landed on his wrist first, surprising him and steadying him, before he took the glass carefully.  
“Thanks,” Derek said, soft enough to make Stiles lick his lips. The pop of champagne made him blink, as Lydia handed him a glass bubbling over.  
“Let’s keep this simple, right?” Derek said. His foot found the bar of a hardback chair at the table Stiles leaned against and he pulled it behind him, smooth and slow in a casual, controlled movement Stiles was jealous of. He sat with his legs spread, one knee higher than the other as his heel rested against the chair leg.  
“What do you want, exactly?” Derek asked, his voice low and soft. Lydia rested her glass on the table, standing and going into boss mood, Stiles recognised.  
“I know what Stiles wants, and I want, so why don’t you take your clothes off and hop on the bed?” Lydia asked and Stiles felt like he wasn’t the only one who knew that wasn’t a question. It was a test. Derek didn’t move, except to readjust his grip on his glass.  
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he said, so soft and calm the underlying iron of an order was barely distinguishable. Stiles felt the first stirrings of lust low in his stomach, and it embarrassed him a little, how easy he was for someone assertive and bossy.  
“Alright,” Lydia said, and she sipped her champagne.  
“You shouldn’t be drinking,” Derek said. “Neither of you. Are you drunk?”  
“No,” Stiles said, but he put his glass down and poured water instead. Lydia didn’t answer, pushing, as always.  
“How many did you have?” Derek asked, and again, only Stiles answered.  
“I had one whiskey about an hour ago and then I had a coke.”  
“Good,” Derek said, nodding slightly and the approval was like a soft pat on the head. “Lydia?”  
Lydia shrugged as if it didn’t really matter to her. “Two glasses of wine.”  
“That’s fine. Put down the champagne,” Derek said and Stiles wanted to put his down again, although that didn’t even make sense. Lydia didn’t. She took a sip, as if she was pushing him.  
“Since Lydia’s being rude,” Derek said, low and confidential. “Why don’t I start with you?”  
Stiles blinked for a minute before he realised Derek was talking to him.  
“Uh, sure, yeah,” he said and bit his tongue when it came out painfully eager, but Derek just smiled at him, slow and long, like he didn’t mind.  
“Why don’t you strip for me?” Derek said, and Stiles chewed his lip, looking at Lydia. She made her way to the bed, still holding her glass and sank down, her hair brushing the white covers softly. Stiles yanked his clothes off with possibly the least grace and elegance he had ever had in his life, and he tripped over his belt when he pulled it down without opening it, landing hard enough on his knees to make a soft pained noise. Derek leaned forward on his chair and watched him clamber back to his feet, amusement light on his face.  
“Sorry,” Stiles said for no reason.  
“That’s alright,” Derek answered. He tilted his head back invitingly and Stiles stared at him stupidly. “Come up here,” Derek said aloud, and Stiles scrambled forward. The only way to obey was to climb right on Derek’s lap, so Stiles did, chewing the inside of his cheeks as the soft sensitive skin of his inner thighs burned against the worn denim of Derek’s jeans. Derek’s fingers came to rest under Stiles’ chin, and for the first time Stiles saw what looked like faint approval and a blush under Derek’s taned skin. He glanced at Lydia and she grinned at him, taking up the bed and playing with the hem of her skirt. Derek kissed him first, and the soft hint of fresh smoke and clean water was so gentle that Stiles opened his mouth. His hands wound low in the warm material of Derek’s shirt, obedient to an order not given yet, his thighs trembling a little with excitement and nerves against the rasping denim. Derek kissed differently to Lydia. Lydia always kissed Stiles like she was showing off, like she knew she was the girl of his dreams and she deigned to respond. Derek kissed like he owned Stiles’ mouth and he knew it. His hand came up soft but calloused at the back of Stiles’ neck, his thumb heavy underneath his ear as Derek pressed a soft close-mouthed kiss to Stiles’ parted lips once, twice. He moved his mouth just under his thumb and kissed lightly while the sharpness of his nail scratched the skin. Stiles’ hands came up to Derek’s broad chest, before abruptly dropping back down when he realised he was hard, almost leaking against Derek’s shirt.  
“You want me to fuck you?” Derek asked, not lowering his voice in the slightest, as if he had just asked Stiles if he wanted a coffee rather than sex. Stiles nodded, catching Lydia’s smug look and hiding his blush behind his hand.  
“I asked you a question,” Derek said as if he was reminding him, voice lower than before, inviting a sense of privacy even in the rented room.  
“Yeah, I want,” Stiles said, half-way through repeating Derek’s sentence before his throat went dry and he lost the rest of it.  
“You want?” Derek said, nodding as if to let Stiles continue. Stiles lifted his hands and shrugged, biting his lip.  
“Shut up, you know I do,” Stiles hissed, exasperated and Derek’s hand came down to his naked waist, pinching the pressure point there and making Stiles gasp and squirm.  
“Don’t try and boss me around,” Derek said softly, leaning his forehead against Stiles’. “Ok?”  
Stiles’ cock throbbed against the hard muscle of Derek’s stomach and embarrassment rose up in his stomach.  
“I understand,” he said after a moment. Lydia laughed from the bed and Stiles looked at her pissily.  
“What’s so funny?” He demanded. She played with the buttons of her silky top as she watched him.  
“Nothing. I just forgot how easy you are,” she teased.  
“I’m not easy! I am not easy,” he said the last to Derek, who held him naked in his lap, and perhaps not making his point as clear as he wanted.  
“Maybe not easy,” Lydia allowed. “Just desperate to be bossed around. Just easily subby.”  
Stiles frowned at her, genuinely annoyed and slightly hurt. “So what?” he said afer a minute. He looked at Derek.  
“Do you think I’m desperate? Easy?”  
Derek looked like he was choosing his words carefully, even as his warm wide hands came up to rub Stiles’ back. “I think you’re taking offence at something that’s a compliment,” he said.  
“Huh?”  
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone to take care of you,” Derek said, his hands distractingly low on Stiles’ back, as if he knew Stiles wanted to argue. “Ignore her if she thinks it’s an insult to wanna be good for someone,” he said, flicking his eyes over at Lydia. Stiles was half-lost, Derek’s hands stroked down to his hips, his thumbs softly circling over the dips of muscle in his pelvis.  
“You’re a good boy, huh?” Derek said softly, and Stiles would have said anything to get Derek’s hands lower, so he huffed out agreement. Derek’s thumbs slid down, stopping in the short tangle of hair just above Stiles’ cock. He rubbed gently, his hands wrapped around Stiles’ small hips, long fingers pressing red marks into the swell of his ass. Lydia laughed loud enough to startle him.  
“I’m so not easy, I’m not subby,” she mocked, grinning at him. “I’m a good boy,” she teased in the same mimic of Stiles’ voice.  
“Derek,” Stiles whined. “Tell her to leave me alone.”  
“Leave Stiles alone,” Derek said. “Please, like she doesn’t love how good you are,” he confided.  
“Huh?” Stiles said, and Lydia shifted in the bed. Derek’s thumbs spread to either side of Stiles’ cock, stroking down soft skin and massaging his inner thighs.  
“You think she doesn’t love bossing you around? I can tell,” Derek said. “Let me let you in on a secret. She’s jealous.”  
“Jealous?” Stiles repeated, pressing his hips down automatically to try get Derek’s hands on him.  
“Uh-huh,” Derek said, his voice soothing even as he lifted one hand and slid it up Stiles’ belly. “She wished she could be good like you. But she’s got too much pride. She wants to be more like you,” Derek said and Stiles slumped against him, resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s thumb circled his nipple, his other hand resting beside Stiles’ dick, heavy and warm and so not where he wanted it to be. Derek look over Stiles’ shoulder at Lydia. “But she doesn’t need to worry. She’s not able to be like you, not right now, but that’s ok. I’ll teach her.”  
“Yeah,” Stiles said, mostly lost. “Please touch me, please?”  
Derek huffed out a chuckle, breath warm and wet against Stiles’ shoulder. He slid his hand upward and wrapped it tight around Stiles’ dick.  
“You just had to ask,” Derek said, and Stiles’ thrusted forward reflexively, precome leaking and slicking Derek’s hand. Stiles latched onto the drop of information.  
“Fuck me, please please?” He said, breath shuddering in his chest and making his voice shake. The soft sound of clothes made him rest his head on Derek’s chest and look over at the bed. Lydia unbuttoned her shirt, her nipples hard through the white fabric of her bra. She smirked at Stiles as she pinched them gently. Derek’s thumb stroked over the head of his cock and Stiles shut down, his eyes sliding closed and his breath evening out. Derek let go of his cock to spread his legs and that was fine. His nails scratched the insides of his thighs and that was fine too. Lydia lifted herself from the bed and got her handbag, handing a small bottle of lubricant and a condom to Derek and that was fine. Derek shifted him in his arms, and Stiles breathed heavily and Derek’s wide wet fingers were massaging his hole and slipping inside and that was more than fine.  
“Hmm,” Stiles said automatically. “Mmmm.”  
Derek let him rest his head on his chest, blinking soft and slow at Lydia. She was biting her lip, her bra abandoned on the floor as she held her small breasts in manicured hands, nails drawing red lines over moon-pale skin. Derek was two fingers deep and Stiles had maybe never felt so relaxed and outside of his body before in his life.


End file.
